


gun-shy sunshine

by tuckerfuckingdidit



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Relationships, Being Walked In On, Dirty Talk, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 17:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11583117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuckerfuckingdidit/pseuds/tuckerfuckingdidit
Summary: College AU. Wash and Tucker wake up next to each other with no memory of having met at a party the night before. What follows is equal parts disaster and miracle.





	gun-shy sunshine

Tucker’s space in the apartment he shares with Church and Caboose is organized chaos – compared to the  _actual_ chaos that the combined living room and kitchen are reduced to if his suite-mates are left unattended. Seriously, those motherfuckers do  _not_ clean.

The room he wakes up in today is… tidy. Like, maybe to an obsessive degree. There’s a photo on a dresser drawer, and one of the people in it is… his RA? He bagged the redheaded chick who’s constantly barking at all of them?

_No way._

He rolls over as gently as he can, trying to not disturb the person lying beside him – and is momentarily taken aback, because, okay, not Carolina, but  _wow_. Kind of a pretty someone. Score one for the love doctor anyway.

A decidedly male someone, but he’ll take it. That might get him double points just for finding a guy DTF in the middle of Texas. Would be nice to actually remember getting some last night, but he’s not gonna flip his lid over crawling out of a dude’s bed. Been there, done that – didn’t buy the t-shirt, wanted no reminder of that shit.

Wait. Through the slowly receding veil of dehydration and questionable decisions, Tucker notes that his boxers are still on. Maybe he didn’t score so well after all. He tugs the sheet they’re both underneath up high enough to take a peek. 

Yup. Both clothed – where it counts, at least.

He is lying next to someone who, though he seems somewhat familiar, Tucker quickly decides must be a stranger. There’s no way he would have  _ever_ passed up an opportunity to make fun of that many freckles. It’s cute, though. He wonders if he used that line already last night.

The guy’s face looks soft in a way that makes Tucker want to reach out and touch, feel it for himself beneath his fingers. The eye bags are kind of rough, but hey, second semester finals are around the corner. Tucker’s had too many sleepless nights of his own to judge.

Besides, the tiredness of his features don’t change the fact that he looks out of a movie: his hair is very blonde, and the sun pouring in from the window catches his eyelashes at an angle that makes them look like they’re on fire. Tucker could definitely stand to drink in every detail of his face.

Too bad the guy’s totally awake.

“You know sleeping people breathe, right?” When dude’s eyes crack open immediately, Tucker snorts. “Yo.”

“…Hi,” comes the reluctant response from Stranger Dude. His eyes are grey. They remind Tucker of bad weather, but on a day you can afford to hide inside and enjoy it without being miserable.

For a long moment, they stare at each other.

Tucker needs a way to break the silence before he does something stupid, like say any of the shit floating around in his head. “Is this weird?” 

It’s definitely weird.

“Might be less weird if you tell me your name,” is the reply.

“Tucker.”

Blondie squints at him. “And how we met.”

“Uh, that I actually can’t tell you, but I assume it was last night.”

The suggestion of a smile tugs at the guy’s lips. Tucker can’t help but notice he isn’t moving. Like, at all. Not to get up, get dressed. Nothing. “Good guess,” says Still Nameless. “You a senior?”

“Yep.”

“Where are you from?”

“Long Beach – “

“No, sorry. I mean where on campus.”

“Oh.” Tucker chews on his lip, and decides to be direct. “Not that I’m not enjoying your idea of pillow talk and all – ” More like the Spanish Inquisition – “but are you gonna tell me your name?”

_Now_ the guy sits up. Tucker rises with him, reaching out to nudge his with an elbow before he can think better of it. “Seriously? You wanna know where I live, but you’re not gonna tell me your name.”

“I never said that.” There’s a faint flush tinging the cheeks Tucker’s fingers itched to trace earlier. Yeah, he’s definitely into this view. “I just – ”

Knocking starts at the door suddenly, and they both jump. “ _Wash!_  Unlock this door, York’s been stuck in the living room for  _hours_.”

“Lina, seriously, it’s not that big a deal – “

**“Now!”**

If the kid was tense before, now he looks like the stress is about to kill him. Tucker doesn’t know a thing about this guy, not even his name, but he’s pretty sure this kid would sooner melt into the floor than be caught with Tucker in this room right now.

 Luckily for him, this isn’t Tucker’s first rodeo. 

Tucker hops out of the bed and starts pulling his clothes on, a short order considering it’s summertime in Texas. He pockets his phone, thanks God he still has a phone to pocket, and opens the window, additionally grateful for the sidewalk waiting just a few feet outside.

“Wait,” Blondie whispers, _“The window?_ ” He stares in alarm from where he now stands, frozen in the middle of pulling his shirt on.

Tucker shrugs. “It’s cool. I’ve done it before.” That probably says more about him than he’d like it to. “Besides, it’s only the first floor. See ya.”

“Wait!” The knocking has started again. The word is hissed beneath the blows, but Tucker still catches it. 

He stops. “You’re saying that a lot for us to be in a hurry.”

“You can call me Wash.”

Right. Well, it’s not like Tucker gave his first name either. “Alright then,  _Wash_. Good luck with the angry mob.” His descent out the window is easy, and probably looks hot as  _hell_.

As it should. That’s what you get after three years of pole vaulting.

***

The last thing York expected when he came back to his room on Saturday morning was for the door to his bedroom to be locked. Wash and Maine don’t even lock the room they’re actually staying in – Maine doesn’t feel the need, and if Wash does, he’d never show it. Even though they were all friends long before York and Maine dragged Maine’s old bed in to make room for Wash, Wash still creeps around their apartment like he doesn’t think he belongs there.

York can’t exactly say he’s surprised. When he and Maine offered Wash a place to stay after he confessed he couldn’t afford to dorm his last year, the kid nearly cried.

The incident doesn’t come entirely out of the blue, either. He did catch Wash headed down the hall with one of the students from Lina’s dorm – her RA duties mean that even at 24, she’s still dorming, which is the only reason he hasn’t insisted on them moving in together yet – as he was getting back from her place the night before.

It just never occurred to York that Wash would lead his new friend into the room  _next to_  the one he shares with Maine.

Wash could do worse than a guy from one of the clusters of students Lina has no shortage of stories about, but still.  _Rude_. Even with the excuse of alcohol. Although admittedly, York does have the best bed.

“Jesus, Wash,” Carolina is saying. “York’s offer to let you move in wasn’t one many people would have given. The least you could do is not take over his room for seven hours.”

“It wasn’t  _seven_ ,” York cuts in. “It was – no, actually, it was exactly seven.”

Carolina continues as though she hadn’t heard him talking. “What if he’d had to work?”

Wash flushes and ducks his head, looking even more boyish than usual. The bedhead isn’t helping. “Sorry. Um, I dunno what I was thinking.”

“Probably because you were wasted out of your goddamn mind,” York says, but he sounds fond. “Where’s the guy you came home with?”

Wash blinks and bites his lip. It’s the inside of it, sort of subtle, but not if you’ve known him for four years and have seen him do it every time he tries to gear himself up to lie. “What guy?”

York snorts, but the teasing that’s headed Wash’s way is delayed by the sound of the front door opening behind them. It’s Maine, arms full of bags from McDonalds. “Breakfast.”

Wash uses the distraction to ease out the door past them, but rather than heading for the food, he makes a beeline for the shower.

Oh well. He can’t hide for long.

***

With Reading Day falling on a Thursday, and a good portion of the senior class being hungover, Wash is pretty sure very few people he knows will actually be in the library today.

He’s forgotten almost entirely about a certain someone he  _doesn’t_  know until that very person takes a seat across from him at the table he’s occupying.

York has often said he’s never seen anyone blush faster than Wash. Wash can  _feel_ the second his face heats up like some kind of instant inferno. The guy—Tucker—is just grinning at him, lounging languidly in his wooden chair, and looking like this is the most proud of himself he’s been in a long time.

The chances Wash will survive this day suddenly are some  _very_ low odds.

“Um,” he says, “Hi.”

“Hey,” he gets back. “Good to see you’re still cute when you haven’t just woken up.”

Yep, this day is definitely trying to kill him.

“Um,” Wash says again, because seriously,  _how_ is he supposed to think and look at that smirk at the same time, “What are you doing?”

“Flirting with you, duh. I mean, I was mostly fucking with you – “cute” is a word for, like, puppies – but yeah. Definitely flirting, too.”

“I – “ He can’t do this. He really can’t. “I have a final to study for, so – “

“Bullshit,” Tucker breaks in. “ _Nobody_ schedules Friday finals around here.” He juts his chin like he’s daring Wash to say otherwise. When Wash doesn’t, he continues. “Which means you’ve got at least three more days.  _Which means_ there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to spend the afternoon with me.”

Now Wash raises his chin. “What makes you think I want to?”

“You woke up with a stranger in your bed, and instead of kicking me out or just  _getting up_ , you laid there and talked to me. I bet if no one had knocked on the door, you would have laid there for like ten minutes.”

Wash bets that if no one had knocked on the door, they would have done a lot more than just lay there.

“I would not have,” He lies. “And it… wasn’t my bed, actually,” he tacks on shiftily.

“Dude, that’s  _even worse_. Except by worse I mean  _awesome_.” Wash looks around, hoping for for something – anything – that will serve as an excuse to pull him away from this conversation. Tucker must realize, because he presses on. “Seriously, one afternoon. We’ll go get a burger or something. It’ll be fun.”

The worrisome thing is, it probably would be. This guy doesn’t even know Wash’s name, but Wash has already caught Tucker’s attention twice now. And for all Wash’s defensiveness, he’s interested.  _Really_  interested.

They’d have a good time.

And that’s the problem. Because finals are in four days.  _Graduation_ is in two weeks, and after that, Wash goes back home. He can’t afford to do grad school here, and regardless of whether Tucker’s done with his schooling, he’s from  _California_. 

There’s a reason Connie broke up with Wash when she dropped out last year. Long-distance just isn’t worth it, and getting attached to a Californian the day after Wash’s undergrad classes have ended is stupid.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Okay, so you  _are_ busy this afternoon. We’ll reschedule. There’s – “

“No, I mean I can’t. Period.”

“…Why not?”

The grin is gone now. Wash feels guilty for wiping it away so quickly, and then frustration over the guilt’s existence in the first place. It makes his response sharper than it should be. “I just  _can’t_ , okay?”

He shoves himself to his feet and begins gathering his things, both out of a need to get away and to avoid having to look at Tucker’s crestfallen expression.

“Fine,” Tucker says. “Have it your way.” By the time Wash is done packing his notes away, Tucker’s gone.

***

Finals arrive, and obliterate almost any chance for Wash to second-guess his decision.

Almost.

He sees Tucker exactly once, on the second day. He’s in the middle of a long, sleep-deprived slog, and at first he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him.

But no figment of his imagination has ever caught sight of him and immediately crossed the street ten yards ahead of the cross walk (what the  _hell_ , Tucker, there could have been cars coming), so Wash is pretty sure he’s in his right mind, even if he’s mortified.

It kills his mood instantly – not that he had much of one to begin with – and spawns a hard knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. A new weight settles in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

This is entirely too many feelings to have about a complete stranger. Wash didn’t even tell Tucker his  _real name._

But they don’t go away. He drags himself through his finals, through the remaining days until graduation, but by the time he’s done sitting through a mind-numbing rehearsal, he has to talk to somebody.

“I think I fucked up,” he says the second he steps into the apartment.

“Probably,” says York from the couch, Xbox controller noisy in his lap. “What’d you do?”

“Um.” The idea of talking about this is completely different from the prospect of actually doing so. “There’s… someone I brushed off I shouldn’t have.”

“I already know you took a dude to my room, Wash.” York still hasn’t looked away from the television. “Why do you think I made you change everybody’s sheets?”

Heat pricks at the back of Wash’s neck. “…I thought you just didn’t want to do laundry.” Or at least that’s what he’d told himself to cope.

“Still waiting on that apology, by the way.”

“We didn’t – ”

“Still waiting.”

“I’m  _sorry_ ,” Wash sighs.

“Good. Now sit down and tell me what you did.”

Wash hovers awkwardly by the side of the couch rather than sitting. “I – he wanted to spend more time together. I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“Do you like him?”

“What?”

“Simple question, Wash. Also, sit down. Your fidgeting is distracting.”

Wash sighs and sits. “I… don’t know. I think I could’ve liked him, but there’s just – ” He heaves yet another sigh. “There was no  _time_. We’re both headed back home, and he lives in  _California_. It’s just… not smart.”  _Risky_ , he wants to say.  _It scares the hell out of me_ , is closest to the truth.

And yet here he is with his regrets.

York blinks, and finally pauses his game before turning his head from the television. “What? No – you’re talking about Tucker, right?”

Wash’s face turns the heat up a notch. He nods.

York shakes his head fervently. “I’ve been by that dorm with Carolina. Tucker’s not from California – he’s from Long Beach,  _Washington_.”

Wash blanches.

That’s less than an hour from where he lives.

York looks almost as baffled as Wash feels. “You didn’t know that?”

Wash facepalms. “Oh my god. I totally fucked up.”

“Told you.” York goes back to his game.

Wash clambers out of his seat and to the door. “I have to find him.”

“Do you even know what room he’s in?”

Wash stops in the doorway, fingers tapping nervously on the frame. “I know who will.”

He just hopes he isn’t too late.

***

He is.

Carolina shakes her head. “He’s already gone, Wash. His mom couldn’t make it out here for graduation. He’s probably already at the airport.”

_Shit._

But when Tucker lands – when both of them have gone home – he’ll be forty-five minutes away.

For a crazy second, Wash thinks,  _maybe I’ll just show up._

Show up  _where?_  At Tucker’s house? That’s not romantic – that’s  _creepy_.

He is losing it. This is four years of questionable decision-making concentrated into a single moment.

“Wash, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted to talk to him.”

“You could always Facebook him,” Carolina suggests.

“That’s – ” Not enough.

Where is this coming from?

He’s stressed out from finals, that’s all. He’s had to let go of his grad school of choice, and he’s got an uncertain, financially tense future ahead of him. This new urgency to fix something isn’t really about Tucker – it’s about Wash’s entire life.

It’s just that it came on so  _fast_.

But if he pursues this, it could burn out just as quickly.

Maybe it’s for the best that he missed Tucker.

“Yeah, I’ll try that,” Wash says woodenly, and the disappointment is apparent to his own ears.

The door to Carolina’s room opens, and brings with it an unfamiliar voice, though Wash relates to the frustration coloring it well. “Where the fuck is Dad?”

Wash turns, missing the way her shoulders tense, and immediately notes the only pair of eyes he’s seen that match Carolina’s in vibrancy. “Seriously, he knows I’m only gonna get my fucking bachelors one time, right? Bad enough he missed the ceremony.”

“I don’t know,” Carolina says tersely. “Wash, this is Church, Tucker’s friend. He can give you Tucker’s phone number.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because  _you_ don’t want me to invite Tex to dinner with us.”

Church is silent for a moment, gaze stony as he stares Carolina down. Wash doesn’t even have to look at her to know her glare will come out on top. He looks anyway.

Scary.

Church holds out his hand to Wash. “Gimme your fucking phone.”

***

Wash doesn’t make it two days before he caves under the crushing desire to contact Tucker. It’s not a great idea, considering the note they left off on – the things  _he_ said.

But that doesn’t stop keep him from wanting to just the same.

When he at last gives in, the results aren’t very impressive.

_Hi. This is Wash._

_…??_

_That’s not really much to go on. Is this Tucker?_

_wtf? you didn’t wanna talk when we were at school. what changed?_

_I thought you said you were from California._

_i never said that._

_Most people think California when they hear Long Beach._

_well maybe you shouldn’t cut people off when they talk. i was gonna finish and say the rest._

Touche. 

This is starting to seem like worse and worse of an idea as the seconds tick by. Just because they live less than an hour away from each other doesn’t mean they’d actually get along. A warm few minutes doesn’t mean anything. He was probably still drunk, anyway. 

Wash is really glad he didn’t call.

Which is of course when his phone rings.

Two rings go by as he questions whether he is really awake, or if he’ll soon jolt up to find he’d fallen asleep during his last final. “Hello?”

“Hey.” It’s nowhere near as smug as the last time. Honestly, Tucker sounds like he doesn’t know why he’s calling, either.

A beat passes. Then another. “This is gonna be awkward if one of us doesn’t say something soon,” Wash says. When Tucker snorts, he tries not to be too proud of himself.

“So,” Tucker drawls. “You really turned me down because you thought I was from California?”

Wash shrugs, which is poor response for a phone call. “Didn’t wanna get attached.”

“Dude, you clearly have been doing this shit the wrong way. You could’ve been from fucking Japan, it wouldn’t have mattered. We’d have spent the day together, had sex that we would have actually  _remembered_ , then parted ways. Simple.”

“Oh,” Wash says blandly. There’s a new heaviness at the bottom of his stomach. Of course it was only meant to last the day.

Of course.

“Unless – “ Tucker pauses thoughtfully. “Oh my god, you wanted to date me.”

“No,” Wash says quickly. “No, I – “ But what is there for him to say? He dated Connie for two years. Wash has never been the type for one-night stands.

Abruptly, he feels the need to flee. Apparently running from Tucker is just a thing he does now. “Look, I gotta go – “

“Dude, relax. It’s okay. If that’s what you’re into, I wouldn’t wanna cramp your style. But if you ever decide you’re up for a booty call – well, we both know you’ve got my number now.”

Wash flushes. This is not at all how he would have expected this to go. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but when they hang up, he knows he’s never going to call.

***

Neither of them calls, but they do text. At first it’s very little – then Tucker drunkenly texts Wash at two in the morning, and actually gets a response. “ _dude i want jlaw to sit on my fucking face, why did she have to be crazy”_  is kind of awkward as far as ice breakers go, but it works. After that it isn’t uncommon for the odd one-liner to be shared between them every now and then.

What gets them having a conversation, oddly enough, is job hunting. It’s only been six weeks since they got back from school, but they’re both nervous as hell. The chatter soothes Tucker’s nerves as he’s waiting for his latest interview. He shoves his phone in his pocket as soon as the door to the waiting room he’s in opens, but after it’s over he pulls it right back out again.

_Dude. I fucking owned that shit,_ he sends. Wash replies with a smiley face, the way he often does when he doesn’t have anything to say. As meager as the responses are, Tucker always believes that he really is smiling.

When two weeks pass and he still hasn’t received a call back, it’s Wash Tucker calls to fume.

“Hello?”

“So that motherfucker was kissing my ass so hard in that interview he was practically eating it, and I haven’t heard anything back.”

“Oh,” Wash says. “Sorry, man. That – that sucks.” He sounds weird, like he’s a little out of breath or something.

Tucker wonders if maybe he had to rush to get to the phone, then smirks. Even if he’s wrong, this’ll still be fun. “Dude, were you in the middle of jerking off?”

“No! No way, I – ” Wash tries and fails to stammer his way through the rest of that sentence, but Tucker doesn’t hear, because Wash’s tone is one of  _panic_ , not outrage, and Tucker is busy trying to not drop his phone with how hard he’s laughing.

He brings it back to his ear, still cackling. “Dude, I was just fucking with you, but you are! Oh my god. That is amazing.”

“Shut up. I’m not  _anymore_ ,” Wash grumbles.

“What were you thinking about?” Tucker tells himself that he is mostly teasing. Mostly.

“I am not doing this with you.”

“Why not? You’re free to continue, if you want. We both know blue balls aren’t fun.”

“Tucker – “

“C’mon, Wash. I wanna hear you.” All the teasing is gone from his voice.

There’s a soft sound on the other end that could be a sharp intake of breath. Tucker realizes distantly that this is crazy as  _hell,_  but if he can actually get somewhere with this, he’s going with it.

“I – “ Wash starts. “I was thinking about… the morning we met.”

Holy shit.

He is  _totally running with this_. “What about it?”

“If,” Wash takes a breath, and it’s shaky. “If we had done more than just talk. Something we would remember.” Jesus  _Christ_. This is without a doubt the hottest thing that’s happened to him recently. He can’t believe Wash went for that.

“Yeah? What would you want, baby?” The words are soft, but they’re fucking cheesy. Still, Wash makes a little noise like he can’t help himself, so Tucker’s calling it a win.

The response comes even quieter than his own: “Your hands.” There’s a huff, and  _shit_ , yeah, there’s no way Wash hasn’t gotten back to it. “Your mouth.”

Tucker can hardly even imagine what Wash must look like right now; the rush from the reaction he’s elicited is the only reason he decides to speak on it. “God, you’re so hot. Bet you look so pretty with that blush of yours. Wanna get in the car so I can put my mouth on you right now.”

Wash groans, and Tucker isn’t sure if forty minutes is a negligible price to pay, or about forty minutes too damn long. “Fuck, you – “

Several things happen, then, in a matter of seconds: the phone impacts against the floor with a  _thud_ that makes Tucker cringe; he hears Wash roar “Jesus Christ, Mom!” at what must be the top of his lungs, and a feminine pitch shriek “Sorry!” in return, followed by the slam of a door.

Laughter is probably not the appropriate response here, but Tucker cannot help himself.

He’s expecting the call to end, but it doesn’t. His patience is rewarded with Wash’s sullen tone on the other end, many long seconds later. “Hello?”

Tucker makes himself stop laughing. “You okay?”

“I want to die,” Wash says miserably.

There it goes – Tucker’s laughing again. “Did she see your dick?”

“I don’t  _know_ ,” Wash whines. “I’m moving out. I’m moving to the cemetery. They can just bury me now.”

“I don’t suppose you still wanna finish?” Yeah, because nothing spells boner killer worse than your mom walking in on your jerkin’ it. But hey, if Tucker doesn’t tease Wash over this, who will? It’s practically a moral obligation.

“I’m hanging up now,” Wash says. And he does.

Tucker is  _never_ going to be done laughing about this.

_Ever_.

***

Two weeks after phone sex-gate, Tucker gets a text half an hour after midnight.  _You up?_

_depends. r u drunk and horny?_

_Just one. Guess which._

Tucker calls immediately. “If you’re just drunk, tell me now.”

“Not drunk,” Wash says. It’s that same hushed, breathless tone from before; the one that reminds Tucker he’s never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life.

“Dude,” he says. “You are killing me with this.”

“Imagine how I feel,” Wash grits.

“Good point,” Tucker relents, voice deepening. “You’re the one who can’t keep your hand off your dick, you little slut.”

Tucker realizes he  _definitely_  should have thought before he rattled that one off, but there’s another one of those bitten-off noises he’s starting to recognize. Huh.

After that, Wash doesn’t really talk anymore. Tucker is only half aware of what all he’s saying as he works himself in tandem – how he’s wanted to get Wash down on his knees since the second he spotted him in the library again, could have dragged him to the back of the stacks where no one would have found them if Wash let him, pushed him down by his shoulders or on to a table and gotten him so loud they’d both be banned from the place for the short remainder of their academic careers.

What’s important are the little (and not so little) noises Wash makes, the smothered syllable that sounds like the start of Tucker’s name, the way Tucker’s sure Wash bites into his fist when he finally comes. It's that sound that pushes Tucker over, leaves him gasping into the receiver as he coats his hand in warm spurts.

"Fuck," he groans. "Be right back." Tucker puts down the phone, reaching for the Kleenex he keeps on his nightstand to clean himself off. He discards the mess, picks up the phone up again, and flops into his pillows.

“Dude. We need to meet.”

“Yeah,” Wash breathes.

“Like. Soon.”

“Yeah.”

They talk a moment longer, but both of them are newly-enlisted space cadets.

When they at last hang up, Tucker’s heart is still beating loudly in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> I call this ending "the season 13" LMFAO BYE. You can holler at me @ [tuckerfuckingdidit](https://tuckerfuckingdidit.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, where you will find just as much ridiculousness, but substantially less capitalization and proper grammar.
> 
> P.S. I've been in long-distance relationships that spanned time-zones, this fic is not knocking them at all. xo
> 
> P.P.S. This could turn into a universe of its own, but I got longfic on longfic (racks on racks!!) over in this corner, so don't expect an update any time soon. :P


End file.
